Rules of Engagement

Chapter 39

The hazy sun was barely above the horizon when the mammoth flattop cleared the pier. After the tugboats had finished positioning the ship, the carrier got underway. The smaller craft in the bay steered well clear of the behemoth as she gathered speed.

An hour later the carrier cleared Tokyo Bay and rendezvoused with her escort ships. The destroyers spread out and quickly positioned themselves around the carrier. The task force turned southwest for the long journey to Yankee Station in the South China Sea.

The carrier was a beehive of activity as all hands prepared for the high intensity of combat operations. In the hangar bay, men crawled over and under the airplanes, cleaning canopies and conducting preventive maintenance.

On the flight deck, the catapult and arresting-gear crews worked tirelessly to prepare their equipment for air operations. Aircraft handlers shuffled airplanes in preparation for the first launch.

Brad walked through the enlisted men's chow hall, noting the activity. The men sat at their tables, calmly eating and talking, while ordnance personnel wheeled bombs through the center of the room.

After negotiating a series of staircases, Brad went to the ready room for the CO's operational brief. Taking a seat next to Jon O'Meara, Brad placed his notepad on his thigh and extracted a ballpoint pen from his pocket. "I see that you survived."

"If I make it through the next twenty-four hours," O'Meara yawned, "I think I'll live."

"Where's Mario?"

"He's hard down, so I told the skipper I would take copious notes and thoroughly brief him."

A group of men, including Harry Hutton, entered the room seconds before Dan Bailey walked in.

Bailey joked with a few men, then approached the podium. His pleasant look disappeared, replaced by a grim scowl. The crowded room became deathly quiet.

"I have just returned from a meeting with CAG," he announced uncomfortably. "We're going to have some tough duty for the foreseeable future."

Brad watched Bailey's gestures, absorbing the gist of his message. How could the air war get any worse?

"The situation is heating up," Bailey continued, looking at the sea of somber faces. "There has been a marked increase in the number of cargo ships entering Haiphong harbor. The shipping activity is going on around the clock. From what intelligence says, at least fifty to sixty percent of the vessels are off-loading huge quantities of SAMs and antiaircraft guns."

Bailey looked into the eyes of his charges. "We are going to make a concerted effort to obliterate certain strategic sites, because the White House wants to get the North Vietnamese to capitulate. If we allow the missile and triple-A emplacements to proliferate, our job is going to get a lot more difficult."

"And deadly," Brad stated in a matter-of-fact voice.

"You're right," Bailey replied, turning his attention to Austin, then back to the group. "I know what you want to ask. Why don't we bomb the cargo ships?"

Brad nodded affirmatively with the majority of the other men. "I share your frustrations," Bailey said, looking around the room, "but they remain off-limits."

Brad indicated that he had a question.

"Yes, Captain."

"Skipper," he began, feeling Bailey's eyes boring into him, "don't take me wrong. I just want to know something."

"Brad," the CO said patiently, "as long as our government guarantees safe passage to foreign vessels, Uncle Ho is going to conduct business with them, and some of the ships will obviously be hauling weapons."

Exasperated, Bailey took a deep breath and blew it out. "It's that simple, Brad."

The ready room remained silent for a few moments before the CO regained his composure. He ached inside, knowing that his men were right and he could not do anything to correct the abysmal situation. His responsibility was to train the crews and prepare them for aerial combat, then send them off the carrier and into battle.

"Okay," Bailey continued, blanking out his feelings of contempt, "here is what we're going to be facing. More missions and more SAMs, flak, and missiles. The heat is going to be turned up on the North Vietnamese, and we're the ones who are going to increase the flames."

He looked at O'Meara and Austin, then scanned the entire room. "We're going to start warm-ups, back-in-the-saddle stuff, and get honed to a razor's edge before we hit Yankee Station." The frown returned. "Any questions, gentlemen?"

No one spoke.

For three days the air wing had flown around the clock. The flight crews had conducted refresher training, along with day and night carrier qualifications. One KA-3B tanker had been damaged when the nose gear collapsed during a hard landing.

General quarters had sounded on two different nights, keeping the crew at the peak of readiness. There was a feeling of esprit de corps throughout the ship.

Fire drills and man-overboard drills had been practiced during flight operations. The ship's captain had been pleased with the results, and had rewarded the crew with a picnic on the flight deck prior to entering the Gulf of Tonkin.

Fourteen hours later, the task force had arrived on station, and the deadly business of war commenced.

Brad entered the cluttered locker room and opened his combination lock. The mood was somber as the crews went through their preflight ritual.

The mission brief and intelligence summarization had been depressing. Haiphong harbor was full of Soviet, Polish, Chinese, and North Vietnamese ships. Some were tied to the piers; others were moored to buoys in the harbor. Hundreds of dock laborers were unloading stockpiles of weapons, including Soviet-made SA-2 Guideline surface-to-air missiles.

The prohibited areas and sanctuaries around Hanoi and Haiphong were ringed with SAM and antiaircraft emplacements. The dams and dikes that had been declared prohibited targets were now stacked with petroleum supplies and lined with missiles and triple-A guns.

Hutton walked to the locker next to Brad and leaned against it. "Why are we doing this?"

"We, as in you and me, or we, as in the Tuesday luncheon group in the White House?"

Looking forlorn, Harry fixed Brad in his gaze.

"Harry," Brad said stoically, "I've got the mystery figured out. Came to me in a supernatural experience."

A slight grin changed Harry's sad look.

"McNamara and his whiz kids own construction companies in the Republic of North Vietnam."

Hutton closed his eyes and chuckled.

"No, think about it. We bomb the dog shit out of dozens of meaningless targets, then stand down for whatever period of time it takes to rebuild them."

Brad's voice rose slightly. "Then, after everything has been remodeled," he lightly poked Harry, "Mac and his stooges telegraph the gomers to get the hell out of the way, because the first team needs some target practice."

Harry stopped smiling. "Brad, are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?"

"I'm serious."

"So am I," Brad replied, checking his newly issued.38-caliber revolver. "I couldn't be happier if I'd just won the Irish Sweepstakes and the Nobel prize."

"Maybe," Harry said cautiously, "you should ground yourself for a few days."

"No, I don't need to ground myself. I need to permanently ground every MiG pilot in North Vietnam, then I'll take a day off."

"You're losing it, my friend."

Brad emptied his pockets and placed their contents on the top shelf of the locker. He removed his academy ring and dropped it in the sleeve pocket of his flight suit, along with fifty American dollars.

Feeling his dog tags and Leigh Ann's pendant, Brad reached for his g suit. "Are you going with me, or have you decided to sit this one out?"

"Yeah, I'm going," Harry replied, reluctantly opening his locker. "What choice do we have?"

Brad zipped his g suit tight and reached for his custom-made torso harness. The snug-fitting harness would be attached to fittings on the ejection seat.

Inspecting his locker, Brad examined the small red-and-gold box at the back of the shelf, making sure it was intact. Inside the box was a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill for his squadron mates to buy a round of drinks if he did not return from a mission.

Reaching for his helmet, Brad paused, then turned to his RIO.

"Harry, we have to believe in ourselves. We're all we've got." Harry rested his forehead on his locker door and sighed. "I know."

Brad placed a hand on Hutton's shoulder and gently squeezed him. "We're going to make it."